Welcome to The Family
by Avenginghunters
Summary: All of the Avengers from the movie plus bonus Loki, Peter Parker, and Phil Coulson are teenagers under the care of Maria Hill and Nick Fury, owners of a diner. The order in which the first 8 chapters are presented is the same order that they came to Nick and Maria.
1. Phil Coulson

Phil Coulson glared pointedly at the tall, eye-patched man who sat across from him at the worn dining room table. Fury, Nick Fury was the name of the interloper. He hated the sound of the name almost as much as the hand that the man held out expectantly. A sign of friendship? He didn't want any token of civility from the man who was stealing his mother from him. His glare only intensified as he took the man's hand in his own, only after intense, urging looks from his mother. "13 years! She raises me from infancy to 13 years old completely alone and she suddenly decides to marry a man who is not my father!" he thinks, anger beginning to swell in the pit of his stomach.

Now if Phil was being honest, which was his natural inclination, he would admit that he remembered next to nothing about his biological father. He had only the vaguest memories of dark hair and a deep voice saying that he loved him. Even so, he would stay loyal to his father. He wouldn't sulk or fall to the dramatics of most his age; it wasn't his style, but that didn't mean he would have to accept Eyepatch with open arms either.


	2. Steve Rogers

Steve stood as straight as physically possible. He was nervous. His sharp mind was nearly fully invested in the effort to keep the tremor he felt inside away from his fingers, but to no avail. The unruly digits were making his suitcase shake uncontrollably. He didn't want this. He wanted to be brave and strong like his mother and father had been, but the tears welling up in his bright blue eyes made him doubt his ability to achieve that lofty goal. He squeezed his suitcase tighter as a dark blue Chevy Lumina pulled up to the curb by the front steps of his old apartment building. He fought the urge to run back up the stairs and curl up in an empty room that was once his parents', but the owner had taken the key after Steve collected the few changes of clothes and sketchbooks that he could call his own. They had moved around a lot. He returned his attention to the lumina. A young man, possibly two or three years older than himself, stood at the back of the vehicle, fiddling with the contents of the trunk. "You're Steve Rogers, yeah?" Steve nodded, followed quickly by a terse yes sir. The boy smirked and took Steve's suitcase without asking. "Is this all you have kid, and call me Phil." Steve shrugged, but quickly felt guilty for what he felt was disrespect and stared forlornly at his feet. That was no way to treat one of the people taking you in. Phil smiled, a genuine smile that Steve couldn't help but feel comfortable with. "Hop in, and welcome to the family."


	3. Tony Stark

"I didn't ask for this shit, you know." Tony grumbled halfheartedly. He had barely lived in the restaurant/nuthouse for a week before getting in trouble for his ocassionally foul mouth. The dark haired genius didn't really have any insurmountable problems with getting his language up to par, but he didn't want a man he barely knew telling him what to do. He'd had enough of that when his dad was around. And the wife, Maria. She was okay, but he absolutely wasn't going to call her mom or anything. He'd never had a mom around and she sure as hell wasn't going to try and fill the hole that apparently existed where his mom should be, but what did psychiatrists know anyway? He smirked a little as Boy Scout, or whatever his name was, came into the long bedroom that would be his home until he could figure out a way to fall off the grid. He rattled off a string of curses as Boy scout lay down on his own bed. The younger boy flinched. He didn't like Tony's cursing, and Tony knew that.

"So, Mr. America. How's life hanging in this shitheap?" Boy scout didn't say a word for a few seconds before turning to him, his big blue puppy eyes making Tony want to punch him in the face and cuddle him at the same time. "My name is Steve, and what happened to you?" The question threw him off guard. What did he mean what happened? When? Tony wanted to violently wipe the concern from the blonde boy's face, but he couldn't. His strength was not in his muscle, but in his mind. "Wouldn't you like to know. So you can feel sorry for me? Well guess what? I don't need your sorries or your fake concern. Why don't you go run drills or something else that Army Brats do for fun." Tony smirked a little as the kid's face showed defeat. Steve left the long bedroom lined with bunks, his eyes filled with sadness. "Well there's one fewer person I can hurt." he thought angrily. He knew he was Tony Stark, future ruiner of relationships and burner of bridges, and he knew that he would fall into the alcohol soaked footsteps of his father, a man who couldn't even convince a jury he had bribed that he was a fit father to Tony. Though to be fair, the fresh bruises, history of broken bones, and he laundry list of eyewitnesses to Tony's abuse and neglect didn't exactly leave anything to the imagination. No matter, he wasn't going to get close enough to hurt anyone like his dad did, not ever.


	4. Clint Barton

Clint didn't want to be sitting on the hard, uncomfortable bench. It wasn't the bench's less than sanitary surface that bothered him, he had slept and even eaten off worse at the circus, but he didn't like the ground. He wanted to disappear on a high roof, or in the tallest rafters of the largest warehouse he could find and just watch all those that would scuttle below him. He didn't know if being a trapeze prodigy had caused that or if he was drawn to the trapeze because of it, but that was a debate for people smarter than him. All he knew was that he loved the freedom of the skies stretching before him when he climbed. He wished he could be there now. Not waiting on strangers at a police station. He stared more than a little nervously out the stations' glass front doors. "It's true that the city never sleeps." he mused as yet another rush of traffic passed by. He wasn't used to the big city yet. Having his brother watching over him while traveling meant he wasn't allowed to leave the fairgrounds mostly situated on the outskirts of the big cities. They were just so lively, even compared to the big top. Clint yawned loudly as he stole yet another look at the cracked, ancient looking clock that adorned one of the police station's many waiting rooms. It was nearly 2 a.m. He was used to long, strenuous working hours, but three days on the run from law enforcement with an unstoppable force like his brother could wear even a grown man down to nothing. His brother. He felt a wave of fear overcome his calm. His brother was on the hook for murder. Murder! Barney had assured Clint that he hadn't killed the rival trapeze artists and Clint believed him, but the police didn't seem so inclined. He wanted to rescue his brother from interrogation and run away to find a new circus, maybe one that treated and paid both of them better.

Clint was pulled out of his fear and worry by an old, black-haired man dressed in a suit. The from their first day at the circus to avoid even the most cheap and rumply of suits because they were both legally too young to be working the hours they worked. He fought the well ingrained urge to cut and run as the man sat down beside him. "Miss Hill is minutes away. You've been a very brave boy." he smiled a smile that Clint recognized as likely genuine, but it didn't matter. He didn't feel any braver. In fact, he felt alone, scared, cold, and incredibly small, but he wasn't going to show a stranger that. "I'm 12 years old. I'm not a boy." he retorted with all the gruffness that his yet unbroken voice could manage. To the man's credit he didn't laugh. He only shook his head and left the silence that punctuated Clint's statement to lay over the small waiting room. It was five minutes later that Clint finally broke it. The question had been eating at him for an hour straight. "Will I get my bow back?" His bow, an extension of himself. It was one of only two possessions that he would fight for, probably to the death if he was honest. The man smirked, "I have no clue where you would use it, but as it is yours I don't suppose we could in good conscience keep it from you." Clint let a small grin take his face before the stony face he'd adopted reasserted its dominance. He had his bow, and he had heard that this Miss Hill and Mr. Fury had a second floor home. Maybe it wouldn't be too horrible.


	5. Natasha Romanoff

Natasha didn't squirm or fidget like most 12 year olds would. She was silent and ate quickly, preferring to observe the busy diner rather than engage in the conversation between the blonde boy and the old man who'd brought her there. They didn't really expect her to contribute either, because by all accounts she couldn't speak English. Natasha grinned faintly at her ruse, but quickly stopped when she remembered that it hadn't worked. She thought that speaking exclusively in Russian would be an incentive for her to be deported with her mother. She'd convinced the police, the social workers, and a slew of other adults that she spoke no English, but her mother had been extradited without her two days before. She wasn't sulking though. She had a plan to rescue her mother from the horrid prisons she'd only heard stories about, but it first involved escaping the watchful eye of the old social worker and evading the police long enough to scrounge up money for a boat ride to her ancestral homeland. She fixed her eyes on a boy her age who walked fearlessly on metal catwalk above the diner's patrons. He delivered food with a flourish from above that often sent fries flying and drinks sloshing over, but the patrons seemed to enjoy the novelty, and the ham of a boy was basking in the attention and compliments. Normally she wouldn't focus so long on one person, but he stared at her first, a ridiculous grin across his face. She brought her attention back to the conversation that had been on the periphery of her mind when she heard her name. "Natasha is a flight risk, son. Can I trust you to help your parents keep an eye on her? She's jumpy so give her plenty of space, but just keep her in mind." the old man smiled warmly as the boy's chest puffed out, his eyes alive with purpose as they looked at her. "Crap," she thought, "She knew there was nothing worse to thwart than a person with purpose." She had to get away! She scooted calmly off the bench and gave the man their symbol for bathroom before haltingly saying the word in English. She smiled her biggest smile, the smile she was taught to use when her mother was panhandling. The old man returned the smile before pointing to the sign for the women's restroom. She walked as nonchalantly as she could toward the restroom. That was the plan! She'd noticed in her initial sweep of the restaurant that the door to the kitchen was down a long hallway that also included the women's bathroom. She would escape through the kitchen and hope that there was a way out through there.

Just as soon as she touched the kitchen door she felt hands grab her shoulders. She nearly screamed as the hands pulled her up onto the metal catwalk. She could see the owner of the hands now. It was the boy who had been staring at her! His rough palmed hands held her tightly around the wrists as she swore at him in Russian. She quickly yanked her wrists free, and tripped in her haste to get away from him. Another second and she would have tumbled off the catwalk, but he was there, hand around her wrist before she could fall. She swore with renewed fury, but he only stood, an infuriating grin across his face. "You're bluffing Natasha Romanov. I saw how you reacted to Steve saying he would watch you. You know more than you let on." She stopped struggling for a few moments, worry rising for the first time in her mind. She fought for control over the panic. Her mother had taught her better than that! The boy only grinned a little wider before speaking again. "You don't have to talk to me, but I just want you to know that I get what you're going through." He got what she was going through? Who did he think he was? He had no idea, and she told him that. She let the worry over her mother's safety and the stress of her mother's false charges and extradition wash over her. "Is your mother being extradited on false charges paid for by a nasty mob that are planning on killing her as soon as she's on Russian soil?" She was as shocked at her confession as he was. She hadn't told anyone about the hit out on her mother. She'd promised her mom. Why had she told him? She thought about punching him hard in the neck and bolting, but then she saw his eyes. They were filled with something akin to sympathy, but he couldn't, could he. He took her hand and nearly whispered a calm answer. "My mom and Dad are dead, but my brother is in jail for a murder he didn't commit. Look, I'm not gonna tell on you if you run, but I could really use a partner in crime around here. If you wanna." He seemed so genuine. She really wanted to be able to say yes, but he would betray her eventually. It was the price that came with knowing a lot about people. She knew he would, but she smiled and spoke anyway. "Under one condition. I will leave whenever I get enough money to go to Russia, and you won't stop me." The boy's grin widened into a full-blown smile. "I can deal with that. My name's Clint by the way."


	6. Loki

Loki jumped as Thor's body enveloped him in a tight hug. He hadn't expected his brother to leave their father's hospital bed, much less venture to the lounge situated so near the busy nurses' station. Thor didn't appear to like most of the doctors and nurses. Loki thought it was because they kept trying to get him to see the truth concerning their father's health, something painful, but necessary for his well-being. "Don't worry, Loki. Father will awaken soon and we shall all be together at our home once again." the tall, brawny blonde boy spoke quietly, probably hoping he wouldn't be noticed by the child services representative that had told him they would have to go to a local foster home if their father didn't wake soon. The boys had no other living relatives that could be located. Loki took a deep, calming breath before he pushed Thor firmly away. He didn't want to be cruel, but Thor could be a bit naive sometimes, and he knew it would hurt worse the longer he put off the subject. He took Thor's unsteady hand and spoke softly, "Thor. You shouldn't allow your hopes to rise too high. The brain damage father fell victim to was extensive. You must know that there is a good chance that he may never wake again." There was a moment of stunned silence before Thor's normally sunny, confident expression took a very dark turn. Thor jerked his hand from Loki's soft grip before grabbing hold of the younger boy's bony shoulders and giving the skinnier frame a shake. A large orderly had been watching the pair from the nurses' station, but figured the two misty-eyed brothers wouldn't start a fist fight in the family lounge of a hospital. "How could you just give up on our father, the only family we have left?" he bellowed. Thor stalked angrily out of the room before Loki could reply. "Your father." he mumbled, the barest traces of bitterness tingeing his voice.

It had been a full year since Odin told Loki he was adopted. He hadn't taken it well. The enraged boy nearly destroyed two picnic tables in a large field at their local park before Thor came barreling into the clearing, blubbering about how Loki was still his brother and to come home. Loki had, and now it was his turn to bring his brother home.


	7. Thor

He couldn't leave his father. He wouldn't. The last words they had exchanged before his father's stroke had been heated, and it was all his fault. He'd found the boys he knew were harassing Loki every day, and the resulting fight was short and brutal. When he got home, blood streaming from his busted lip and angry calls from three boys' mothers blowing up their home phone, the fight began. His father's deep voice coupled with his own seemed to shake the creaky floorboards beneath his feet. He wouldn't give in. He wouldn't admit that diplomacy or telling someone about the boys would have been the better route for everyone involved. He absolutely would not admit to being wrong either. He stormed angrily out of their home like a petulant child, and after only an hour of pacing the city Loki phoned him from the hospital. Father had suffered a stroke.

That was a week before. They kept telling him that it wasn't his fault, over and over again, but he could feel the crushing weight of guilt weighing heavy on his broad shoulders. It was his fault, and he wasn't going to leave his father's side. He started as Loki entered the small hospital room. Loki, his brother. Guilt began to work its way into his already heavy heart. He should be an example to his little brother. He should be the one holding them together, not the other way around. Loki knelt quietly beside Thor who sat at the end of their father's bed. It was a few moments before he spoke. "Thor. We've got to go now. They are waiting for us in the lobby." Thor knew who "they" were. They were people from the state coming to separate them. He wouldn't have it. "I will not leave father. We are family and it is my fault he is even here!" Thor's yell faded out into a near whisper as rogue tears threatened to form at the edge of his deep blue eyes. A few seconds passed before Loki spoke, a hint of frustration evident in his voice. "I suppose our mother's death was your fault as well? Why don't you claim the hardships of the entire western hemisphere? Maybe that would make you feel better." Thor felt anger coiling in the pit of his stomach, but held it in check. Loki was his brother; no matter what he said or did it would always be true. "Fine, I will go. Only because I must protect you. "Loki punched his brother's shoulder playfully, thankful for the sudden break in tension from the words Thor had said. "Whatever you say, brother."


	8. Bruce

Bruce leaned uncertainly on the door frame to a large room lined on either side with bunk beds, but which one was his? He thought very seriously about calling out to someone working in the kitchen underneath his new home. He had five new brothers and a new sister that seemed willing to help him, but the plea that was on his mind was lost in his throat. He should just leave. He didn't belong there. He wanted it, he wanted the happiness that he saw in the kitchen banter. He wanted the roughhousing between the two blondes, and the jokes that seemed to pass so easily between the 6 people downstairs. He wanted it more than anything in the world, but he couldn't have it. He knew the kind couple who had taken him in would tell him to hit the road after his first outburst, just like the two families before them.

Bruce jumped when a hand descended upon his shoulder. "Bruce, my man. I'm Tony. I saw your file. Your anger issues really caused by a lab accident? Cause before I came here I had my share of "accidents" and I never got something so cool out of it. Mostly just lost some eyebrows." Bruce wanted to shake the hand off and run before he could get attached to anyone, but Tony's brown eyes didn't look suspicious, cautious, or judgmental, in fact he seemed more excited than anything. A scientist, he could have guessed it. Bruce nodded, blushing slightly at the boy's sudden arm around his shoulder. Tony grabbed his bags and dropped them unceremoniously on one of the bottom bunks. Well that answered that question. The boy sat on the bunk and patted the space beside him. "So Bruce, let's hear it." "What?" he replied, feigning ignorance. It was obvious that Tony hadn't gotten a hold of the whole story, and there was nothing that Bruce wanted more than to have someone around who didn't know about his problem or his parents. Goddamn his parents. "You know what I mean," Tony persisted, grabbing a hold of Bruce's arm and pulling him to a seated position on the bunk, "How did you get turned into the Big Green? Is it classified?" Bruce held back a laugh when he saw Tony's eyes light up at the word classified. The guy obviously wasn't used to being denied much. He took a deep breath before speaking. He might as well get this over with. Tony would find out about it sooner later. "My parents were part of the research team on new super soldier methods. More efficient than the ones they were using. They were tired of having to jump through hoops to push their ideas into human testing, so they used me." Bruce let the information sink in for a few moments to give Tony the chance to back out, but he didn't. "Most of the early ones were harmless, but the last one...not so much. Now when I get really mad my skin turns horribly green around the veins. Before they were taken away my parents hypothesized that it would only worsen with age." Bruce looked to Tony, who had a grin cracked wide on his face. "Don't you worry Big Green. We'll all a little screwed up around here. You'll fit right in." He rankled at the Big Green, but smiled anyway. Maybe he would be leaving sooner rather than later, but at least he could have this. He could have a bed and a normalish family and a possible friend named Tony, maybe just for a little while.


	9. Finding Peter

"Tony. Tony!" Steve had been yelling for the slugabed for ten minutes! He ran across the kitchen preparing for the early morning rush that sometimes required all hands on deck, but right then the only hands on deck were him, Phil, and a squirrely Natasha and Clint. "Clint! Run up and get Tony out of bed. The main oven is broken and we've only got an hour until the morning rush." Phil ordered, rushing Clint upstairs with explicit orders to brush his unruly hair. "Natasha, Mom and Fury are in a meeting to take in a pair of brothers. That means that you're on the cash register. Tony!" He was beginning to get annoyed at Tony's apparent shirking of duties, but instead of letting the annoyance overtake him, he swelled with more than a little pride as Natasha dutifully took her place at the register. They had all been hesitant to have Natasha manning the register when she first arrived, but her excellent math skills and obviously mature attitude soothed their worries after just one hour that first day. Phil and Steve sighed simultaneously when a bleary eyed Tony finally came down the spiral staircase, clad in his pajamas. Clint was hovering around the young genius like a puppy. It bothered Phil sometimes because of Tony's less than role model behavior, but if it made Clint happy and neither Phil nor Steve wanted to bother that. "You were supposed to be up a half an hour ago. Maria and Nick are gone and you know that means we all have to pitch in." Steve chided. Tony waved him away and headed straight for one of the cups of coffee laid out for the older members of the kitchen crew. Natasha and Clint were forbidden to drink caffeine. The last time they had it they were bouncing off the walls and the family had to replace two of their chairs as a result of an impromptu jousting match. "Yeah yeah yeah. I know, but the cavalry is here. I'll fix the damn stove if you take out the trash for me." Tony replied, chugging down a half cup of lukewarm coffee. He would drink coffee in any form if pressed. Steve rolled his eyes and nodded. It was supposed to be Tony's duty to take out the trash; but they really needed the stove fixed, and Tony was the go to guy for that kind of stuff. While Tony sent out a fawning Clint for the necessary tools, Steve wrestled with the 4 large bags of trash from the night before. He opened the door into the alleyway where their dumpster was located and shivered slightly at the stiff wind that met him. It was only fall, but the sun hadn't risen to shake off the cold grip of the night. He stopped dead at the doorway when a shrill scream broke the relative silence of the morning. Steve thought about going to get Phil, but whoever it was that was screaming sounded very young, and very in trouble. He dropped the trash bags and squatted quickly behind their neighbor's dumpster trying his hardest to focus on the sounds of the alley. There were voices, possibly three or even four, taunting someone. He peered around the edge of the dumpster and squinted, trying to focus on the dimly lit alleyway, and then he saw them.

Four boys had formed a circle around someone small lying curled up on himself. They looked about Steve's age; too young to be out that early, but old enough to know that what they were doing was wrong. Steve stood to his full height, anger rising in his gut. He hated bullies. He had always tried to defend himself and others, even before the experiment had made him big enough to do so as effectively. He stole upon the 4 boys quietly, but it wouldn't have mattered how much noise he made. The delinquents were kicking the young boy viciously and were too caught up in blood lust to notice his sudden attack. It was over quickly. The four ran away yelling, and bleeding profusely out of their noses and Steve seriously considered running after each and every one, but he had a more pressing issue on his hands. The boy hadn't moved during Steve's attack, he just lay there crying pitifully and curling in on himself more and more. Steve put his hands on the kid's shoulder and squeezed. "It's okay kid. They're gone." The little boy opened one of his blackened eyes a fraction of an inch before flinching away from Steve's hands." It's the blood," Steve thought. He wiped both of his blood-stained hands off onto his pants leg and tried again, this time pushing blood matted hair out of the boy's face. "Come on buddy. I'm gonna get you somewhere safe. You're bleeding. You're gonna be fine though." The boy opened his eyes again, but instead of cowering he reached out, his small hands finding Steve's neck and holding onto him for dear life. Steve held the feather light boy tightly and ran as quickly as he could into the diner. "Phil, Come to the diner. Bring the first aid kit!" he yelled as he rushed through the kitchen and into the rest of the diner. Steve sat the boy down at the diner's tall bar and stepped back in order to get a good look at him - he did not like what he saw. He couldn't tell for sure, but the poor kid couldn't be more than 10 years old, and a small ten year old at that. His eyes were both blackened, and his lip busted. Steve didn't even want to look at the boy's sides where they had kicked him. He calmed the urge to go after the boys again. He didn't like to fight, and only did so if the situation absolutely warranted it.

To Phil's credit he didn't ask any questions of Steve or how the kid in his hands had come to be that way. He simply grabbed the first aid kit he always kept well supplied and snapped into action, addressing the brown haired boy's busted lip and bloody nose as fast as he could, and when it was done he questioned the boy as gently as he possibly could . "Okay buddy. Where do you live? Your parents must be scared sick." It was a few moments before the kid spoke, pain evident on his face. "My parents are dead. I live with my aunt." He didn't offer any more than that, just kept his eyes focused on Steve with what appeared to be blooming hero-worship. "What's your name?" Phil tried. Surely he couldn't be hitting any nerves with a question as simple as that. "I'm Peter," he said, "Peter Parker."


	10. I'm Not Scared

Natasha wasn't quite used to the low stakes of her new life. If she was caught she would be told to go back to bed, and that was it. No legal trouble or angry shopkeepers calling the police. It was good, but that didn't mean she would be any less stealthy entering a room now that the stakes were low. She would probably never stop her silent ways and furtive movements. It was who she was. Tony had taken to calling her Sneak in the month that she'd been living with them, and the name had stuck. Now even some of the regular patrons had adopted the name for her. She didn't mind so much. The skill was especially useful now that she realized she wasn't going to be able to get any sleep in her own room.

No one knew Natasha was sneaking into the boys' large room to sleep on the floor and leaving early every morning, though even if they did find out she would never admit why. She had been okay for the first month or so of living away from her mom, but she was beginning to sleep less and less as time wore on. "I'm 12 years old for god's sake." she whispered as she debated where to set up her blankets. This was, in her opinion, way too old to be afraid of sleeping alone. "Not afraid," she thought as she smoothed the blanket she would sleep upon, "Just uncomfortable." Natasha had led a very untethered life before living with her new "family". She would roam the city picking pockets or stealing food during the day, but once night fell she would listen to her mother tell stories and fall asleep with the woman's soft, accented voice and the sound of gentle breathing nearby. She missed that. Her bedroom was too quiet. Even with the voices on the radio she still tossed and turned, but it was different on the boys' bedroom floor. She could hear her best friend Clint's soft snoring, and Tony's not so soft snores. Phil was strangely silent in his sleep, and she swore his eyes were open sometimes. Steve muttered occasionally. Thor was a kicker, and often fell completely out of his bed without waking up. Loki was her favorite though. He talked a lot and it was a game to play before she dropped off. What was Loki dreaming of now? Natasha curled up like a small cat in the folds of her blanket pile, soaking in the sounds of the people around her, finally able to sleep.

It was 2 weeks after Natasha basically vacated her room during the night that someone finally noticed she wasn't in her own bed. It was Steve who sounded the alarm. He got up in the middle of the night to check on everyone. It was a habit he'd developed as soon as he realized Tony was fond of sneaking out and getting trashed, plus he felt the weight of so many with a lot of hurt living under one roof. Sometimes Clint needed someone by his side in the dead of the night. Steve often forgot the agile little monster was still just a kid. The greater surprise was Thor. He would invite Steve out on the fire escape and basically unload every insecurity he had, but only at night when he was certain no one else could be listening. After checking that everyone in the room was asleep and didn't need him, Steve bypassed Natasha who was curled up at the end of Tony and Clint's bed, and went to peer through the slightly ajar door into her room. She was gone. He yelled the house awake and nearly called the police before Phil finally found her. She expected at least a heavy scolding by either Maria or Nick, but Maria simply led her back to her bed and told her goodnight. Natasha relented and didn't get back up that night, but only for that night. Nearly every night Maria would catch Natasha sneaking into the room, and the patient woman would send her back to her own room every time, but eventually both she and Fury gave up. "Let her sleep in there until she gets her bearings. She'll grow out of it." Maria insisted, but she'd already bought another set of bunk beds before Nick even said a word.


	11. The Adventures of Iron Man

Tony ran as fast as he could around the diner, shouting for Clint and Natasha. It was his only job that night. "Watch the kids!" Everyone had said before filing out into the pouring rain to visit Steve. The idiot had gotten himself hit by a goddamned car a half hour before and was sitting in the hospital at that very moment. He'd wanted to go. He didn't always get along with the great patriot, but he did want to be there at the hospital for him. "Natasha and Clint I swear to god if you don't get out here right now I'm going to." A slight sniffle coming from underneath the long counter cut him off before he could get to the threat he'd intended.

Tony sighed and stepped behind the freshly scrubbed counter. The pair were seated on the ground, doing something he had never seen them do before. Crying. Both kids held onto one another like their lives depended on it. Clint's back was to Tony, but Natasha's was facing toward him with half of her head buried in Clint's shoulder. She shot to her feet, wiping her red, swollen eyes and settling into an incredibly defensive posture. Clint was not far behind.

"You can leave us alone Tony. Just go away." Natasha scowled, taking Clint's hand and making a valiant effort to brush past Tony. He nearly rolled his eyes as a thought came across his mind. He loved those kids. He knew he loved Clint the second the kid showed up half scared to death, and more than a little rebellious. He felt it again when Natasha came around, pretending around everyone, and he knew he didn't want anything bad to ever come near them again. The golden boy of the family was in the hospital and there Tony was, seeing the smallest of the crowd hurting. He might be a walking ball of issues, but he could help out the little hellions of their crazy family. He caught up with the teary duo and scooped both of them up into each arm, which was a feat in and of itself, both of them being a little over 12 years old. His physique wasn't awful, but he wasn't a Thor or Steve.

"Tony! Let us go!" They protested, squirming and wiggling in his grasp. Tony laughed a lot, but climbed the stairs as carefully as can be accomplished with 2 squirming kids in your arms. "You guys want to hear a story? It'll take your mind off Steve." he asked once he had both kids sat down on Nick and Maria's monstrous bed. The bunk beds were perfectly comfortable, but nothing said storytelling like a huge bed heaped with covers. Tony actually felt like a kid again for a few seconds before Clint spoke. "We're 12, not six. We don't need stories." Natasha glowered and agreed. Tony changed his strategy. "Well it would really help me out if you listened, cause I'm worried about Steve and this'll make it better." Both of the kids were smart, and were suspicious of his statement, but both finally agreed, and all three plopped down onto the bed. Tony began.

"Iron Man is a mighty man, encased completely in a suit that he designed on his own. It is self-sufficient. You can take a piss in the suit and that water is good enough to drink afterward." That bit got a giggle from Clint. "He doesn't actually have any superpowers, but he has something better." Both Clint and Natasha looked suspicious at what could possibly be better than superpowers, but Tony was unphased. "He's got brainpower, and money. Lots of money."

He talked for three hours. Of Iron Man's heroism and his daring rescue of the American Man, and how he got the girl in the end. It was a long tale that eventually had both of the tough little kids completely enraptured. Tony himself didn't know how he was coming up with it, but it didn't matter. Neither one had begun crying again.

Steve returned from the hospital at 3 in the morning. He had a sprained ankle, a mild concussion, and bruises, but other than that he'd been incredibly lucky. The boys helped Steve up the stairs, half carrying the behemoth of a boy up, and fell exhausted into their respective beds. Nick and Maria went to their room and grinned at one another. Natasha and Clint lay on either side of their most rebellious charge, fast asleep. Tony had a protective arm around both of the kids, and was snoring loudly. "Well it seems there's more to the kid than his snark." Nick commented, pointing to the pile of kids. Maria smiled warmly down at the kids before gently picking Natasha up off the bed. Nick did the same for Clint. Tony woke with a start. "Is the Star Spangled Man gonna be okay?" he said, half coherently to Maria. Maria nodded and ruffled Tony's hair like he said he hated, but he grinned anyway. "Can we have more story tomorrow, Tony?" Natasha whispered as Maria laid her down on her bunk. Maria raised an eyebrow at Tony and smiled. "Don't mention the stories. It was just to shut them up." Tony replied to her wordless question. Maria nodded, but even Tony knew she wasn't convinced. He was just too damn happy to care.


	12. The Roof

Thor hefted the huge flour sacks onto his shoulders. He could've taken all four of the sacks in at once, two on each shoulder, but the smallest members of his temporary family wanted to help bring them in as well. Thor chuckled at Clint and Natasha wobbling under the weight of the sacks. "You both will grow strong if you continue at this pace." Thor encouraged. Clint and Natasha both grinned at the compliment. The tall boy was well-known for his 1000 watt smile and booming laughter. He got along well enough with everyone, everyone that is, but Tony. Thor stacked the flour sacks on the kitchen shelves, relieving both of the children of their burdens just as Tony arrived. "Goldilocks, you're needed on the roof. They need some brawn up there. I'm already supplying the brain." Thor rolled his eyes at the moniker the cocky genius employed, but followed him to the stairwell at the back of their home. "What are we needed for on the roof?" Thor asked. Tony shrugged before pushing the door open. Both boys blinked rapidly at the incredible sunlight that pounded the flat roof before they noticed that they were alone. "What the hell?" Tony said before turning quickly on his heel. The loud click of a lock made both boys rush to the door, testing the knob and pounding angrily at it. One half-broken voice and the higher laugh of a kid found its way under the door. "Loki." They yelled simultaneously. "He must've gotten Natasha in on this. She was the one that told me to go to the roof." Tony fumed. He gritted his teeth, but couldn't help but be impressed by the little monster. Loki would have known that Tony would never trust him without confirming the order from Nick and Maria in the flesh. He did trust Natasha enough to believe her without pause. "I'm gonna kick your punk brother's ass." He added before kicking angrily at the thick door. Thor grabbed Tony by his shirt collar and shoved him against the door. "You will do nothing of the sort. He didn't hurt you, and he is my brother. If you go after him you're going to have to go through me." Thor said. He pushed on Tony's chest for emphasis before letting the older boy go. Tony, though shaken, didn't show it. He laughed, rubbed his chest and faced Thor. "Calm down Fabio. I'm not gonna hurt your brother. Let's just get off this goddamn roof before I catch whatever brain disease makes you like that little shit." Thor thought seriously about taking the comment seriously, but decided against it. He wanted just as badly to get off the roof, and Tony wasn't a terrible choice for help.

It had been over an hour since they'd been stuck on the roof. The first half hour had been hectic and full of swearing and insults as they tried in vain to unlock the door. Everyone they yelled to in the street just waved back at them and went on their merry way. "I swear when I get in there I'm gonna go to the sink and drink for the next hour." Tony panted dramatically before sliding down the door to the ground. Thor almost sat down beside him before he saw it. A thick chunk of metal loose from the edging of the roof. He ran to it, almost gleeful and yanked it loose. Tony rolled his eyes. "You're dumber than you look if you think you're going to get that door open with that." Thor just shrugged and yanked Tony out from in front of the door before carefully working the metal in between the door and its frame.

Minutes passed. He worked under the hot sun while Tony complained and continued to try and get passersby to enter the diner and save them. "Seriously. You just look pathetic." Tony blurted just a half second before Thor stood in an open doorway. A huge grin spread across his face. "What was that. Maybe I should be telling stories of Iron Men, and not you." Tony's rolled his eyes before smacking Thor on his arms. "You know you're not so bad at all, Goldilocks." Thor shook his head before pushing Tony into the house and shouting, "Loki Odinson you are gonna get it." Tony nodded and ran to find Natasha. Neither of the hellions would ever hear the end of that.


End file.
